


Sleepwalking

by Brammy093



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst and Tragedy, Conversations, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Extended Metaphors, F/F, Loss of Parent(s), Multi, Multiple Realities, Photography, Survivor Guilt, Time Travel, coffee and cigarettes, post-storm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2019-10-21 14:22:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17644460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brammy093/pseuds/Brammy093
Summary: The storm is over.On the road North toward Seattle, Max and Chloe ponder the future and try to manage memories of the past.Though their bond is incredibly strong, they've only had a week to reconnect and manage Max's gift of time manipulation. The devastation of the storm has left them anxious, and unsettled - teetering between survivor's guilt and outright denial. And for Max - realities.This is an ongoing, detailed, moment-to-moment narrative following the events of the Sacrifice Arcadia Bay ending of Life is Strange.





	1. Wake

. . . And when the storm subsided, when the air was still and the sky an evening blue, they made their escape.

Through what remained of their lives, the town and its people - their many hopes and loves - they drove. Steel-cold eyes on the road ahead, as a passing glance through the window would yield a guilt too strong to bear.

Max couldn’t help it. She looked and she fell deeply into the hole in her stomach. An aching hand stretched out from debris, a bird with tattered feathers on a craning lamp post. The shattered buildings strewn about like a child’s unwanted playthings.

The storm brought air and sea to meet the land with vengeful clarity. Her memories, the negative prints of the broken world around her, were hung beneath her surface to dry.

Chloe, her dearest friend, fellow survivor of the tragedy of Arcadia Bay, slowed the truck to a stop. She reached out to comfort Max, but knew that the only remaining option was to drive.

And drive they did. Far, far away.

* * *

**The Night Of**

 

"It’s not your fault,” Chloe said quietly.

She held her silent, trembling friend. Both had laid down on the seat of her truck.

“It’s not your fault.”

They were parked behind a gas station, shaded by a dense row of evergreens - the coast somewhere far from sight. She was exhausted. They both were. With her thumb she stroked the back of Max’s head. She figured that if one of them deserved some rest, it should be Max.

“I’m here,” she assured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Max was churning in semi-consciousness. Chloe thought it could be the autumn air creeping into the vehicle. They had no coats, no blankets, and no money but for the meager bit remaining on Max’s debit card.

Chloe looked up through the windshield. The night was clear, and many stars displayed themselves for her. She’d played this role before: The Caretaker. This was different. Rather than revolve in color, float like the melody of a lullaby - the stars hung stiff and silent in the sky. Distant and immense, so many millions scattered endlessly and without reason. On her back she felt like the Earth was their vehicle, and the infinite space above them was a road with many destinations.

She gripped Max a little tighter, looked down, and wondered what infinity must feel like. Max was motionless, finally, and breathing softly.

 _It’s not your fault_ , Chloe thought.

* * *

**The Morning After**

 

They awoke unsettled - off balance. Max pushed off of Chloe and tried to stretch, knocking her hand against the window. Chloe sat up, her head low. They took a moment to get their bearings.

Both of them, in the truck, hours north of Arcadia Bay, behind a gas station, hours still until they would arrive in Seattle.

Two days prior, they had fashioned themselves detectives. They found Rachel. The day prior, Max had used her power to upend a cycle of death - Chloe’s death - and then refused to use it once more. The end, as with the beginning, was the storm. It felt like the first time in days that Max had opened her eyes to see the same reality she had closed them in. No visions, no impending doom, only a subtle vacant noise where life used to be.

“It doesn’t feel real,” Chloe said.

“None of it does,” Max leaned against the door.

Chloe nodded.

Silence for a moment, muted by their shared reality. Chloe’s stomach complained loudly.

“Shit. I'm starving.”

“Me, too.”

“I couldn’t eat if I wanted to.”

“Me either.”

Silence. Loud stomachs.

“Okay maybe just a little,” Chloe looked over at her. “Max? We could probably get something small in there.”

She motioned to the gas station.

Max nodded slightly and pulled her wallet from her pocket and handed it to Chloe without looking at her.

“Do you want anything?” Chloe took it and opened the door.

No response.

“Max?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Max offered a half-smile. “I’m not feeling picky right now.”

Chloe nodded and hopped from the truck, stopping halfway.

“Oh,” she said. “And, uh, gas?”

Max nodded.

“Thanks, Max. You're the best. Um, I’ll be back in a jiff, okay?”

She shut the door and walked quickly around. Max watched her round the corner of the store, out of sight.

She looked down at her hand, flexed it slowly, and thoughtfully considered the movement of the bones and muscle beneath the skin. Bare nails, dry skin, a callus or two from frequent camerawork. Nothing special. If she thought on it, with the right intent and flexion, her hand could bend the scene in front of her. Chloe could walk backwards, back across the pavement and to the side of the truck. She could then release her grasp on time and let it all play out again.

Max felt a spark of anger, a flash of irritation at herself. Were the world a top, she could spin it on its head. And the questions she kept asking: _Why? Why me? Why any of it?_

She stretched out her fingers. For all their power, just a few inches long and attached to a well-intentioned girl without a clue.

 _I hate this_ , she thought, and made a fist.

* * *

**The Road North**

 

On occasion, the evergreens gave way to hills and sharp coastline. Conversation bubbled briefly between Max and Chloe, but it often subsided. Words would retreat like a flattened wave.

“You know, it was all over the news,” Chloe mentioned after a fair length of quiet. “I saw it, back at the gas station. They showed it from the air.”

“Chloe . . .”

“I know, Max, but it was just so surreal. To see it like that. Everything looked so small. My whole life on one shitty coastline. I couldn't even see the dine-”

Max’s phone began to vibrate. She checked - Mom. Chloe glanced at it as it buzzed in Max’s hand.

“They’re just going to keep calling.”

“I know.” Max sighed, then answered the phone. “Hi, Mom.”

Chloe winced at the elation emitted from the phone. Max switched ears to better contain the noise.

“Yes, I am. We’re okay.”

Chloe’s phone was in her pocket. Dead silent.

“Chloe and I. Yes - yes, the both of us. I know. No. No, Mom,” Max looked meekly at Chloe from the corner of her eye. “Mom, I shouldn’t talk about that right now. Yes, we’re on our way up. Chloe’s truck. Yeah, we’ll be there soon. It was scary, yes. Mom. Mom I -”

She sighed, pressed her hand to her brow.

“- Mom, I’m sorry. I’ll tell you more when we get there. I love you, too. Bye.”

Max hung up. Chloe kept her eyes on the road - rigid.

“Chloe -”

“I think you were right, Max,” Chloe said briskly. “We should just talk about it later. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Max removed a pair of earbuds from her bag.

“You don’t mind if I zone out for a bit?” She held up her mp3 player.

“Do your thing, Max.”

Max fastened the earbuds and let music fill her mind. Signs and posts flew by the truck, too quickly to notice, but in the distance, through the trees, the stoic peaks of mountains nearly unchanged by the passage of time. An acoustic guitar and sad, gentle lyrics kept tempo with the passing landscape. 

It soon changed. The highway broadened, and the mountains grew nearer. They tapered down to a patch of civilization jutting up from where land met water. Seattle. The Space Needle was visible until lesser buildings broke their view of it. Max’s eyes found faded paint on old brick buildings, traced the power lines over sidewalks off the highway.

_The pictures you’re taking of me now._

She flinched, jerked away from the window and tore the earbuds from her ears.

“Whoa! Easy, Max,” Chloe nearly chuckled. “That was random. You okay?”

Max looked at her sternly.

“Okay. Dumb question.”

Max settled into the seat, hands on her face. “Are we getting closer?”

“You tell me,” Chloe shrugged. “I’m just kind of driving toward town.”

Max uncovered her face and focused. Some of the buildings looked familiar.

“That exit there,” Max pointed to a sign. “I think I know the way from here.”

“Holy shit, look at that,” Chloe said. The largest buildings were visible for a moment, off in the distance. “How far are we from downtown?”

“Not far, but not very close,” Max smiled. 

Chloe merged off the highway, twisting her neck to see every point of interest passing by. “Wow, Max. You really lived up here, didn’t you. Look at all this.”

The entire city sloped toward the Puget Sound.

“It’s beautiful,” Max followed Chloe’s line of sight. “We’ll have plenty of time to check it out.”

“Totally.”

“Take this next left.”

“Aye, aye, Captain Max.”

The sun hung low over the city, providing a sharp silhouette of its buildings for the elevated suburbs. The truck groaned to a halt in front of a large house, and Max felt uneasy. Chloe adjusted the rearview mirror, saw herself in it, then sighed loudly.

“Welcome home, Max.”

“Yeah,” Max pressed her hands between her thighs.

“Dude, don’t look so excited.”

“I’m not. I’m nervous.”

“Yeah, I get what you mean.”

“You do?”

“I have,” Chloe held up her hands, “No fucking clue what my life is now.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve been about two hard sneezes away from a total mental fucking breakdown the whole trip up here. I can’t stop thinking about my mom, and all the things I don’t know and everything - about you.”

“Me?”

“And I just - I just . . .” Chloe’s jaw stiffened. “I don’t know if I just need to get shit-faced, high, laid, or cry - or any combination of them right now.”

“It still doesn’t feel real.”

Chloe scoffed lightly. “No. No it fucking doesn’t.”

“Chloe,” Max reached for Chloe’s hand.

“Max, look,” she pointed at the house. Max’s parents were shuffling quickly down the lawn toward the truck. “We should go.”

“Right,” Max said.

Max held out her arms to her mother and father. Chloe, hands in her pockets, remained a step behind. The Caulfields embraced on the lawn, a sobbing mother and gruff, but emotive father. Chloe saw their hands touch Max’s face, her shoulders; watched them poke and prod and push and pull at her, parental hands testing their daughter’s likeness for any damage, and to imbue sympathy - relief. Chloe’s chest tightened, but then their eyes were on her.

Max was released and Chloe was absorbed into Mrs. Caulfield’s arms. She felt tears moisten her shoulder, and fought hard to restrain her own. Mr. Caulfield, as mountainous as the state in which he lived, placed a heavy hand on Chloe’s shoulder.

“We’re so happy you’re okay,” Mrs. Caulfield said, after removing herself from Chloe. “My goodness, you look so different.”

She smiled, pinching at the blue locks framing Chloe’s face.

“Your hair,” she said with a teary chuckle. “What a woman you’ve grown up to be.”

Chloe glanced at Max, who smiled. Mrs. Caulfield composed herself and ushered them toward the house. “Come along, you two. Let’s get you inside.”

They followed her to the door, a beautiful home with a beautiful view of the sunset down the lane. Max followed her parents as they entered, but Chloe lingered on the stoop, warm light at her back. Max turned to face her.

“Chloe, what’s wrong?”

“What isn’t?” Tears formed and threatened to fall. “Everything’s different now. All of it. It’s fucked.”

Max’s face was sympathetic. In her mind was Chloe falling, the bullets of her necklace suspended in the air, and the stench of death. Max held out her hand. Chloe crossed her arms.

“It _is_ different,” said Max, hand outstretched. “But we aren’t. We’re still here.”

“We’re the only ones,” Chloe’s voice was frail, precarious. “Why do we deserve that? Why do I deserve that?”

Max kept her hand out. “Chloe, _please_. Whatever happens, we do it together. Remember?”

Chloe nodded once. “I know. I just . . .”

“We'll figure it out. One day at a time.”

The sun set lower. After a deep breath, Chloe acquiesced. Hand-in-hand, they stepped through the door and shut it tightly behind them.

* * *

 

**Accomodations**

 

They ate a large meal at the dining room table, mostly in silence. The parents sat and watched, looks of worry and appreciation on their faces. Mr. Caulfield praised their readiness, their decision to leave as quickly as they did, and ability to avoid the storm. Max and Chloe shared a look, mouths too full to speak clearly.

“We were really lucky,” Max managed to say, covering her mouth.

“I don’t know if luck had anything to do with it,” her father asserted. “God, I can’t tell you how proud I am of you both. Especially considering . . . considering everyone else.”

Chloe chewed more slowly. 

Mrs. Caulfield noticed quickly. “Chloe, have you - have you heard anything? Anything at all?”

She shook her head.

Mrs. Caulfield reached across the table and gently squeezed her hand.

Soon the meal was finished and the dishes put away. The house had barely any time to scrub away Max’s presence in her absence. Most of her things were as she left them, having only been in Arcadia Bay for several months. Her dirty laundry remained in her desk chair.

“I’ll be damned if I let you get away with not doing your laundry, Maxine,” her mother said in earnest.

Chloe sat at the foot of the bed and watched as Max unpacked and arranged what few things they’d taken on the trip. Max hesitated when she removed her camera, choosing instead to leave it in the bag, along with her journal.

“Don’t feel like documenting our new digs?” Chloe smirked.

“I don’t need to document my own room. I’ve lived here for the past five years.”

“Yeah,” Chloe rubbed her neck, followed the strings of lights around the room, illuminating dozens of photos taped to the walls. “Jesus, look at all of this. Your art, I mean.”

“I’d rather not, Chloe.”

“Whoa!” Chloe stood up and rushed to the wall, removing a square still and examining it. “Dude, what is this?”

Max stood on her toes to peek over Chloe’s shoulder. It was an image of Max and two boys with skateboards. They were leaning backwards over the lip of a half-pipe. “Oh, those two.”

“Tell me you didn’t learn how to skate without me?”

“Not at all,” Max took the picture. “Those were just some kids from school. No one I talk to anymore.”

Chloe scanned the photos on the walls, some displaying people, others landscapes, and several held a smiling Max within their small white borders - selfies. “You had a lot of fun up here.”

Max shrugged.

“It’s hard to think we’ve only been back together for a week,” Chloe chuckled.

“Feels way longer.”

“Yeah, longest week ever.”

They stood there, Max’s past painting the walls around them.

“Well,” Chloe clapped her hands. “Time to pass the fuck out. I don’t know about you, but I’m hella tired. Can I borrow some PJ’s?”

“Me, too. And of course,” Max’s sight lingered on the photographs. 

 _Memories?_ She thought. _Or another reality? I can’t seem to tell anymore. I don’t think I should focus too hard on any of these pictures. I’ll have to take them down in the morn-_

“Max?”

She shook her thoughts from her head and turned to see Chloe fidgeting by the bed. “Do I, uh, sleep out there, ride the couch, or . . . are we still sleeping together?”

Max smirked and nodded toward the bed. They settled under the comforter, stretching their toes out as far as they could.

“This sure as shit beats sleeping in the truck,” Chloe said, sighing contentedly.

“Tell me about it,” Max pulled the bed sheet up to her face. “So warm.”

“And don’t worry about me, I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

“You better,” Max smiled.

“Mostly,” Chloe pinched her side gently.

“Shut up,” Max laughed and prodded her back.

They relaxed, let the weight of the day slide off. It took some time before either of them managed to sleep. Max’s eyes lilted until finally her dreams took her.

Once she heard Max's breath slow, Chloe opened her eyes. She’d barely slept in the truck the night before. If she closed her eyes she was afraid of what she’d see - of who she’d see. There were no stars through the bedroom window, just the string of lights reflecting on the glass. Photographs populated every free space of the wall behind her, and she couldn’t ignore them.

 _I’ve had you back for a week_ , she thought. _What’s one week compared to all of this?_

Max’s breathing was as soft as her voice. Chloe listened to it, closed her eyes, and eventually sleep arrived.

Max’s mind was cruel to her. She dreamt of fire, rain, and violence. Repeated deaths over many realities. An art gallery, but on the walls were portraits of herself, limp and lifeless - caught in Jefferson’s lens - and wealthy patrons congratulating her on the loss of her innocence. Her nose was bloody and in her arms was Kate Marsh’s lifeless body, flattened except for an accusatory glare, not at Max, but at God. She screamed, fought against her restraints, but her head was too fuzzy and a spike of pain hit her neck again and again. _I am not in control_. A gunshot rang out and on the ground was Chloe, nearly unrecognizable with her blue hair and punk clothing - but her face was the same. The same sad fatherless girl. Max reached out to her. Nathan paced the tile floor and through a vent in the wall flew a blue butterfly.

Max could feel the air displaced by the beating of its wings and was pushed hard back into consciousness.

With a heaving gasp she was awake and upright in her bed. Sweat all over, her head rang and her heart pounded furiously.

She could barely see, unaided by the string of lights on the wall, illuminating her photographs. She rubbed her eyes and reached for her phone, but it wasn’t where she’d placed it. Groping at the floor, she found it and checked the time - almost morning. An unread text message from Joyce. Without reading it, she threw herself around. 

“Chloe!”

But the bed was empty. Beside her just a wall of photographs - newer photographs.

 _What the fuck?_ She thought, heart racing.

She twisted quickly and saw the shape of the room coalesce into her dorm at Blackwell Academy.

 _What?_ She began to panic.

Hands shaking she checked Joyce’s message:

> **J:** Max, thank you so much for being there yesterday. Chloe lives on in all of us. Love you.  _[10/12]_

_NO!_ Her mind screamed. _How did this happen?!_

* * *

 


	2. Binary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max wakes to find a new reality - wherein she's traded Chloe's life to save Arcadia Bay and its people. She has no idea why or how. Arcadia Bay, it seems, isn't ready to let her go.
> 
> Meanwhile, Chloe struggles with a sense of helplessness in the reality where she was spared. Having just arrived in Seattle with Max, she grapples with the probable loss of her mother and the life she was previously so eager to escape.

. . . A photograph is light, captured. An instance in time held tightly in the eye, mind, and camera of the photographer. Before the image is complete, it must be cleaned - solved. To bring it out, and to life, it must be submerged in darkness. Drowned. Only then will the image on the film take shape. However, the colors are incorrect, representing the opposite of reality: A negative print.

A light is shown through this negative by the artist, and a positive print is produced. The image can be seen as the artist intended - what was held so closely in their mind. That chosen moment can finally be realized.

Dozens of prints may be rendered from a single negative - the original. A single moment mass-produced, a memory lived repeatedly.

* * *

**Dusk**

 

Max woke as dawn slanted through the windows of her dorm. The room was as she left it, almost exactly. It was small, cozy, and embellished with the sorts of things young adults collect for display. A string of lanterns hung across a mural of her photography, two naked windows flanked by posters on the brick-faced wall, and a deluge of notes and textbooks haphazardly strewn about the furniture. She had returned without her consent - traveled through a nightmare to wake in a room so uncomfortably familiar, unaltered, and wrong.

She repeated the question in her mind.  _How? How am I here?_

Max looked at her hand, extended her fingers.

_I know I didn't use my power. I swore . . ._

She checked the date on her phone - Sunday, October 13th - then dabbed at her nose.

_No blood. I haven't traveled back in time! This . . . is this real? Am I really back at Blackwell? Did I ever leave?_

Beside her on the bed, rather than Chloe, was her teddy bear - its black-plastic eyes catching the light from her cellphone. Max flipped it face down.

_Yesterday with Chloe - the road, Seattle, Mom and Dad - it had to be real. It couldn't have been a dream. If . . . if this is another reality, I've done this before. Come on, Max, think clearly._

Anxiety gave way to tempered determination. She rose from her bed, phone in hand, and approached the laptop on her desk. Where there had once been frantically scribbled notes and rented books on time-travel and string theory, there was instead a mosaic of sticky-note reminders of past assignments and deadlines. She cleared the work space with a swipe of her forearm and sat down. She tapped the track-pad and the laptop brightened, casting her shadow across the room. Quickly she opened several browser tabs and began typing. The resulting headlines displayed all she needed to know. 

> PAN ESTATES DEVELOPMENT ON HOLD; PRESCOTT WOES CONTINUE

_Holy shit,_ she thought.  _Nathan's family is in trouble? Wait, what is this? Oh my god . . ._  

> BLACKWELL SHOOTER SON OF LOCAL REAL ESTATE MAGNATE

_Blackwell shooter? Nathan! He must have . . ._

She scrolled further down. 

> SERVICES HELD FOR YOUNG WOMAN SLAIN IN OREGON SCHOOL SHOOTING

She read the headline again and covered her mouth. Above the article was a picture of Chloe that Max had found the first day they'd reconnected - blue hair, and so sad. Max sank into her chair. "Chloe," she said feebly.

 _No . . ._ Her chest tightened.  _This can't be happening. I need to figure out what's going on._

She fought to relax, but the anxiety swirled into a whirlpool beneath her ribs. She exhaled sharply and began typing furiously. More headlines dashed across her screen: 

> FAMED PHOTOGRAPHER IMPLICATED IN DISAPPEARANCES OF YOUNG WOMEN
> 
> PRINCIPAL ON SCHOOL-SHOOTING: "We Were Ill-Prepared." VOWS CHANGES
> 
> BODY RECOVERED OF MISSING TEEN
> 
> BAY FISHERMAN CELEBRATE RECORD TOTALS
> 
> FORMER DISTRICT ATTORNEY BREAKS SILENCE ON ARREST OF MARK JEFFERSON
> 
> SCHOOL-SHOOTER HEADED PRESTIGIOUS CLUB AT SCHOOL, GIVEN FREE REIGN
> 
> STUDENTS COMMENT ON RISING GUN-VIOLENCE IN AMERICA, PLAN TO HOLD RALLY

_Mr. Jefferson and Nathan are gone? A-and Rachel . . . they found her. Everyone is still alive and the town . . . it's still here. All it took was for Chloe to -_

An email notification pinged in the browser. A no-reply reminder from Principal Ray Wells: 

> Students,
> 
> I know the following week has been trying, frightening, and difficult to bear. I want all of you to know that as we prepare to resume our scheduled curriculum on Monday, that the faculty and I have a vested interest in transitioning you all back into an environment conducive to learning, inspiring talent, academic achievement, and creative expression. As it stands, the events of this week have been nothing short of a tragedy. The trust that you and your parents have instilled in this institution has undoubtedly wavered. It is my solemn promise that Blackwell Academy will earn back that trust. Your continued safety is of utmost priority.
> 
> After lengthy discussions with our Chief of Security and consultation with various law enforcement entities - we believe that we are well on our way to preparing our school for the future. New security measures are to be adopted effective immediately, including updated policies regarding curfew and guest visitation. Starting Monday, once monthly Active Shooter Drills will begin. To ensure the successful implementation of these new policies, I expect full participation from each and every student.
> 
> Blackwell Academy has long been seen as an arbiter between gifted students and success. We will survive this hardship and endure, as this Academy has for many years. Together, we can weather this storm and emerge as better teachers, better students, better leaders; all of us galvanized by this experience.
> 
> And as for the preposterous rumors that I am to resign. They are just that: Rumors. All my life I knew that I would be the leader of a fine academy such as Blackwell, and no amount of - 

Max closed the email. 

_Increased Security? The David in this reality isn't so different than the one I left behind._

Her chest pinched at those words: Left behind.

Abandoned.

Alone.

Windswept debris and shattered buildings.

The violence of the storm was still so fresh in her mind, like a seeping wound. She pressed her palms into her eyes. She couldn't remember which David she last saw. The high-strung, paranoid former marine had saved her from Jefferson's sterilized photo-dungeon, but he had also died. Repeatedly. Max had raised her hand, bent time backwards as much as needed in order for David to subdue the deranged teacher. 

 _But all of that was erased,_ she remembered.

She had fought through the wind, rain, and time to find Warren and his photograph outside the End of the World Party. She traveled back, warned Chloe, and Mr. Jefferson was apprehended soon after. At least according to Chloe's recounting of events.

_Which reality is which? Who lived and who died and when?_

Max wasn't lucid when she and Chloe presented their evidence on Jefferson to David. She came to next to Chloe on the beach, the tornado bearing down on them. Every timeline and alteration was knotted in her brain. She slammed her palms flat on the desk.

_I can't make heads or tails of this! I need help._

Protruding from the edge of her laptop was a thumb-drive. A memory emerged: Warren, rain-soaked and bruised as he sulked at the counter of the Two Whales.

 _If there's anyone with a mind for brain-twisting Sci-Fi,_ Max thought.  _It'd be him._

The constriction in her chest wound more tightly. Through the window, the shadows in the courtyard stretched in the morning blue.

 _Is this really a new reality?_   She thought. _Or the one I changed to save Chloe? Is Chloe still with me . . . somewhere else? If I'm here, does that reality even exist?_

Her hands, capable of cheating death and manipulating nature, began to shake.

 _Stay calm, Max,_ she told herself.  _Breathe._

* * *

**Ash**

 

Chloe woke with a jolt, a sharp inhale. She turned to see Max sound asleep, a strand of hair down her face. Chloe brushed it away. Gently she rose, reaching her arms above her head and yawning deeply. Dawn was at the window and the urge to smoke was in her throat. Quietly she fished her cigarettes from the pair of jeans on the floor, opened the pack, and counted seven of them. She scoffed through her nose. The house was still, utterly quiet but for the dim hum of the air conditioning. If anyone else was awake, she couldn't hear them.

Rather than sneak sheepishly downstairs, she carefully opened the bedroom window and sat across the sill. With a flick of the lighter and a lengthy draw, a cool numbness settled inside of her. On Max's desk was her phone. Briefly she wondered how much longer she'd have service with no one to pay the bill.

She winced at the thought and took another pull from the cigarette, wafting the lingering smoke through the window. She closed her eyes and let her head rest against the frame,  blue hair reflected in the glass. She tried to remember swimming. Weightlessness. Calm. Warm water on her skin. Max at her side. All the energy and confidence of an unsolved mystery in her chest - now deflated. 

A crow cawed somewhere down below. Her eyes opened and found it perched on the power line across the street. Wings furled at its sides, the black bird surveyed the neighborhood, perhaps in search of food or a lost companion. It cawed again. Chloe inhaled smoke - subtle red light filled the window frame. Wisps of gray obscured her sight of the bird and, without provocation, it produced its wings and flew away, out of sight.

_The corners of the world our mere prologue._

"Fuck!" she tossed the cigarette through the window and shut it. Max groaned at the noise, but didn't wake.

Her oldest friend, imbued with a power she couldn't see or sense, lay motionless. Somewhere inside of her was the torment of dozens of realities.

_You have no idea the hell I had to go through to get back here._

_I can't imagine,_ Chloe thought.  _It could've been so much easier . . ._

"Rest up, SuperMax," she said softly. "You've earned it." 

She stepped into her jeans and left the room, phone in hand.  _Please. Anything._  No new messages or missed calls. _Fuck_ _._ She pressed her mother's number, but before it could connect, the battery died.

" _Double fuck!"_ she whispered hoarsely.

The urge to throw her phone and watch it crash on the hardwood was near impossible to ignore. She resisted, pressed her hands against her head and sank to the floor. Above her were the dust-free walls of the Caulfield's home - a catalog of cherished moments hung in intervals down the hallway. Chloe stood slowly and followed them. At the end of the hall, easily seen from the top of the stairs, hung a portrait of the three of them: Mother, father, and daughter. Each of them were posed. Ryan Caulfield, bearded and stoic as an oak, a bashful young Max on his knee, and Vanessa behind him. In the glass was the pale reflection of Chloe's face. A fissure within her widened.

_Max the time traveler. Chloe the grifter._

The gargle of percolating coffee sounded from the kitchen downstairs. _Shit._ Chloe stepped toward Max's room, but the floorboards gave her away.

"That you, Max?" Ryan called up.

"Uh," Chloe stammered. "No. It's me."

"Chloe?" He appeared from the kitchen. "Hey, kiddo. Max awake?"

She shook her head. "No. She's knocked out. Probably won't be awake for a while."

Ryan nodded. "It's been a rough few days for you two."

She sighed. "Yeah."

Silence.

"You want some coffee? Just made some."

"You got any whiskey to go with it?" She chuckled halfheartedly.

"Just coffee," he smiled before returning to the kitchen. "Come on down and get yourself some."

Chloe grimaced at herself, then wiped a spot of moisture from her eye before heading down.

The kitchen was spacious. Multiple appliances occupied a fraction of the ample stone counter-space. Rising light shone through the white-draped window above the sink and caught on the stainless steel of nearly everything. Ryan sat at the kitchen table, sipping his steaming mug and scrolling through his laptop. Chloe managed to mask her astonishment, remembering the much smaller house the Caulfield's owned in Arcadia Bay - as well as her own.

"There's creamer in the fridge. French Vanilla," Ryan said from behind his mug.

"Uh," Chloe looked around.

"What's up?"

"Cups?"

"Oh," he stood quickly and walked to the cupboard by the fridge. "Sorry. Here you go."

"Thanks."

She poured herself a cup and sat beside him at the table. He smiled at her, but retained focus on what she assumed were very important emails. Suddenly, she was sixteen again - uncertain of how to speak or act casually.

 _He's just your best friend's Dad,_ she thought. _He's just a lumberjack looking adult man you haven't spoken to in half a decade._ _This isn't fucking rocket science. Say something. Say anything. "How's work been?" No. Awful. Garbage. You have garbage thoughts. You can't open up to strangers and you can't open up to anyone who's ever loved you, so what's the point? Drink your black coffee. I hope it's as bitter as it looks._

She acquiesced to her self-deprecation and resolved to drink quietly.

"Any good?" Ryan asked, referring to the coffee.

 _Bitter as fresh dirt._ "Yeah."

"I don't mean to be so quiet." He closed his laptop. "Not when there's so much I should probably be saying."

 _Shit._ Chloe felt butterflies rise from the pit in her stomach.

"I've been following the news as best I can," he continued. "Nothing looks good."

Chloe gripped her mug tightly, concentrating on the heat in her palms.

"I just . . . Chloe, I . . ."

"I know," she said abruptly.  _You know? What does that mean?_

"Sure," he said. "But if you'll allow me."

She nodded.

"I'm not much for words. I never have been. When your father died . . . and with us leaving. Coming here, for this."

He gestured to the wide-open room around them.

"We could've done so much more for you. For your mother. We could have, and should have."

Chloe turned away, squeezing the mug and clenching her jaw.

"And now all of this. That freak storm. Both you and Max in danger. I just wish we . . . Vanessa and I, I wish we had . . . Look, we Caulfields have a habit of nurturing our guilt into something of a personality trait -"

She scoffed.

"- and, well, I just hope you know how sorry we are. Truly. About everything. You're what, nineteen now?"

She was silent.

"At that age . . ."

"It's okay," she managed to say. "It's not your fault."

"Well, I don't think it's about fault. Tracing the cause and effect of every little thing is enough to drive you insane."

She nodded.

"Have you . . . have you heard anything? From anyone?" 

She could barely keep her eyes from burning. She figured if she didn't blink, she wouldn't have to acknowledge the tears. But they burned, so she did, and they fell. She lowered her head, fought to keep herself from trembling. She slammed her fist on the table and sniffed hard.  _FUCK._

Ryan flinched. "I'm sorry. I didn't -"

"It's okay, really. This was bound to happen sooner or later."

"It's hard to keep it bottled up."

"Hasn't kept me from trying."

His chin twitched, as if a thought had landed just below his lips.

"Can I show you something?" He asked. "I don't know if it will help, but it might."

"Is it tissues?" Chloe used the sleeve of her shirt to wipe her face.

Ryan chuckled. "No, but let me get you some. Follow me."

He led her to his office, a smaller room tucked away by the entrance to the garage. Aside from his desk and a filing cabinet, the room was sparse. A single bookshelf was propped against the far wall, decorated more by trinkets from places traveled to than by books.

"Nice digs," she sniffed. "Utilitarian."

"Wait here." He left her by the door while he pilfered through the drawers of his desk. A few seconds later and he presented to her a photograph.

"Who's this?"

"This," he pointed, "Is my mother, and this is my father. That little guy right there is Bobby, er, Robert, and that's me."

Chloe examined it. The print was weighty, thick, worn at the edges and nearly faded to a sepia tone.

"Stick around here long enough and you may bump into Bobby, but those two wonderful people, Patrick and Miranda Caulfield . . . Well, they passed away a long time ago."

She handed the photo back to him. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he held the picture gingerly. "They died, the both of them, around the time I married Vanessa. I wasn't particularly ready for this life. A wife, a kid, bills, a mortgage. But that life seemed to find me all the same. Not to mention Bobby, and having to help him."

"That sounds . . . really difficult."

"The point is, Chloe, and I don't know how much this helps, but . . . the family I had left was what helped me mourn the family I lost. Helped me heal, to function again. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to run away, lie low or lock myself away from . . . well, from everything. The pain doesn't leave. It can't and it won't. Whatever we do to help won't change that. Dwelling on the past, worrying about the future. It's like drowning. But we'll do what we can whenever you need us to, okay?"

She felt tears on her face again. "Okay."

Ryan put his hand on her shoulder, his face and voice calm. "There's no timeline for feeling better, but it's possible. One step at a time."

 _Jesus Christ,_ she thought. "Yeah." 

"I'm going to assume by the look on your face that's it's, uh, time for me to stop talking. I bet Max is probably awake now, wondering where you are."

"Yeah, maybe. Probably."

"Hang in there, kiddo."

With that, he returned the photograph to his desk and headed back to the kitchen and his laptop. Chloe balled up the tissues he had given her and blew her nose.

 _All of Dad's pictures are probably ruined, rotting in the puddle where my house used to be._ She inhaled shakily. _Okay._ _Time to wake up, Max._


	3. Tether

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max must navigate a reality in which she is constantly faced with the lives of those she chose to sacrifice. Though there may never have been a storm, something else is brewing in the once seemingly docile Arcadia Bay. She must also contend with the fact that she has no memory of the events taking place between Chloe's death and the present.
> 
> Chloe makes a startling discovery in Seattle, one that challenges her understanding of her relationship with Max. Despite some encouraging words from Max's father, she has yet to feel ready enough to tackle her inner turmoil - or understand exactly what she feels.

. . . Seattle is a fishing town, an art town, poised on the lip of the Puget Sound where it bisects the Olympic and Mt Baker National Forests. Evergreens are ever present, as is the brine-tinge of sea water in the air; its blue glass high-rises stand proudly before a deep, unimpeded sky, save for the snowy Mt Rainier, imposing itself on the skyline from the south-east.

Old brickwork crosshatches with modern architecture, glass and steel, and at every intersection a cup of coffee can be found and enjoyed behind a jacket collar - upturned at the crisp morning wind off the water. The sun sets on the sound, casting broad amber waves that reach up from Pioneer Square, across Lake Washington, and to the forests beyond.

Photographers delight in capturing Seattle and its many colors, its tree-lined streets, the coarse hands unloading Sockeye Salmon at Pike's Place Market, and of young men and women, tattooed and smoking, chatting casually beneath blooming street lamps. So many moments to seize, to ensnare through an aperture and render onto film.

The negative print, a stillborn image - the lens through which a memory must be seen to be given life.

* * *

**Wake Up, Max**

 

Chloe was careful not to spill the coffee as she walked up the stairs. Black coffee for her, extra cream and sugar for Max. Sunday morning lethargy hung in the air - a fixture on the clean and symmetrically organized walls of the Caulfield's home. At the head of the staircase she again lingered on the Caulfield family portrait.

 _You were a cute kid,_ she thought, and let pass the urge to draw an eye-patch across Max's face.

She continued down the hall to Max's door and stopped.  _You just need some time, Chloe. She's here to help. You aren't a . . ._

She closed her eyes, saw the lighthouse's beam gleaming on the funnel of the tornado as it careened toward Arcadia Bay - home.

_You aren't a burden._

With her hip she flipped the door-handle and pushed her way inside. The door swung open and Max, sitting upright on the bed, turned quickly in surprise.

"Rise and shine, SuperMax! Wake up and smell the misery." She smiled and raised a steaming mug in either hand.

Max's mouth fell open at the sight of her, chin trembling.

Chloe was immediately uncomfortable. "Uh, you okay? Want some coffee?"

"Ch-Chloe?" She reached out slowly, as if her oldest friend was an apparition that would dissolve at the slightest disturbance.

"Uh, yeah that's me. Why are you staring at me like that?" Her brow furrowed.

"I-is this real?" Tears pocked the corners of her eyes.

"Dude, what's with the weirdness right now?"

Max's finger met the skin of Chloe's knuckles. Warm. Real.

"Chloe!"

She leapt from the bed and wrapped her arms around her. Chloe flinched and tried to keep the mugs from spilling.

"Jesus, dude! There are beverages here!"

"I can't believe it's really you!"

"Okay, first your dad and now you? What's with all the -"

Max buried her face into her shoulder, arms tight around her back, and sobbed. Heavy, shuddering exhalations. Her airy voice cracked, a whimper in the back of her throat. Chloe, arms outstretched, carefully set the mugs on the bedside table and returned the embrace. "Easy there, Max. It's okay. I'm here."

"I'm so sorry, Chloe. I'm so, so sorry."

Her knees gave. They lowered to the floor.

"Max, hey," Chloe managed to pull away slightly. "Hey - what happened? Are you okay?"

"I can't believe you're here!" Max's face was red and streaked. " _How_ are you here? How am  _I_ here?"

"Dude, what are you talking about?" She smiled. "We haven't gone anywhere."

"What?"

"Max, were you having another nightmare? Were you-"

Chloe looked over her shoulder into the hall and lowered her voice.

"-Have you been fucking around with time again? You promised that -"

"No!" She gripped Chloe's shoulder. "No! I haven't done anything since I . . . since I-"

"What, Max?"

"Since I went back and . . . with Nathan in the bathroom and . . ."

Chloe pushed away. "Wait, what? Hold on."

She stood quickly and shut the door, then knelt down to face Max. "What the actual fuck are you talking about? The picture? The picture of the butterfly on the bucket or whatever?"

Max nodded.

"I  _watched_ you tear that up and throw it away. What do you mean you went back?  _When_ did you go back? You used your power again! You found the picture and went back!"

Chloe stood up quickly, fuming.

"No! Chloe!" Max reached after her. "I didn't tear it up! I still have - I did what you asked me to do! I went back to fix everything!"

"Bullshit," Chloe turned around. "I  _saw_ you tear it up and throw it off the fucking cliff. We stood there and watched that damn tornado eat up the whole town!"

Max stared at her in disbelief, then at her own hands. She began mouthing words, scanning the room. "I don't understand. I . . . what?"

Suddenly she doubled over with a loud groan, gripping the sides of her head - her short hair twisted around her fingers.

Chloe was quickly at her side. "Whoa, whoa! What is it, Max?"

"My . . . head . . . can't . . . think."

Chloe leaned in close. "Is this like before? Another vision? Another nightmare?"

"No, it's just . . . something's wrong. I shouldn't . . . this isn't right."

Chloe sat her up at the edge of the mattress and handed her a mug. "Here, this'll help."

Grimacing, Max took the cup and sipped at it - gagging immediately. "Oh, _G_ _od_ , is that black?"

"Shit, sorry." Chloe swapped the mugs. "Here, you go."

"Thank you."

"Is it helping?"

She shrugged, but was able to lift her head and open her eyes. "A little."

Chloe gripped her forearm. "What's going on, Max? Tell me everything."

* * *

. . . Crisp autumn hardened around Arcadia Bay. The lighthouse, overlooking the horseshoe of beach from its perch on the cliff, stood guard over a population rattled. News spread that the prestigious academy on the hill, barely a week since violence erupted in its halls, would reopen. An ugly strain of violence, once thought impossible or improbable, had been exposed. The hidden belly of the town split open and its contents laid bare for all to see. A teacher and his student, a monster and his apprentice - the family that enabled them.

The Two Whales, once a hub of chatty bacon-gnawing tradesmen, had fallen eerily quiet. Amidst the clattering plates and scraping silverware was Joyce Price - a solemn figure beneath a tightly wound bun. Families remained in their homes after dark. The town became a checkerboard of yellow-windowed townhouses ascending into the forested evening.

Blackwell was poised like a dying leaf, precarious and changed. It's red-brick buildings housed a tense and reticent student body. With the eyes of Arcadia Bay and the state of Oregon fixed intently on the Academy, Principal Ray Wells felt it is his duty to put on a strong front.

Max felt she had to do the same. She had made her choice, and the world had changed because of it. Like a picture torn, she needed to be made whole - to bring things into focus. She was surrounded by the faces of those she'd deemed worth losing. Every one of them a guilt-ridden nightmare personified.

* * *

**Secure**

 

 _Get a grip, Max_ , she thought.

Morning had ascended and the light in her dorm was a cool blue. She had dressed, snuck in a shower, and began scribbling a torrent of thoughts onto sticky-notes before plastering them on her window.  

> _New reality?_
> 
> _How did I get here?_
> 
> _What has changed in this timeline?_
> 
> _Talk to Joyce? Warren? Anyone?_
> 
> _How do I get back?_
> 
> And circled many times:  _WHY?_

She pushed the chair onto its back legs with her foot and tapped a pen to her chin.  _Ah!_ She scratched out another note, tore it from the pad, and stuck it to the glass.

> _Nightmares related?_

She checked her phone: 10:00 am.

_I've waited long enough, time to text Warren._

She pulled up his messages:

> **W:** What a week, eh Max? Hope you're okay. _[10/10]_
> 
> **W:** If you ever need to talk, I'm here. _[10/11]_
> 
> **W:** You coming the funeral? _[10/11]_
> 
> **M:** Yeah. Had to stop somewhere first. _[10/11]_
> 
> **M:** See you there. _[10/11]_
> 
> **W:** Definitely. I'll be your shoulder to cry on! _[10/11]_
> 
> **M:** Thanks _[10/11]_
> 
> **W:** Anytime Maximus. Here for you. _[10/11]_
> 
> **W:** So bummed out now. Feel so bad for Joyce. _[10/11]_
> 
> **M:** Me too _[10/11]_
> 
> **W:** Just wish there was something we could do. _[10/11]_
> 
> **M:** I know the feeling  _[10/11]_
> 
> **W:**  I wish I'd known Chloe. She seemed so cool.  _[10/11]_
> 
> **W:** Hey there, Mad Max, how're you feeling?  _[10/12]_
> 
> **W:** Can you believe they're actually gonna open the school on Monday?  _[10/12]_
> 
> **W:** Wells was in the newspaper. Nobody's happy about this.  _[10/12]_
> 
> **M:** It's pretty crazy.  _[10/12]_
> 
> **W:** Still haven't taken the new ride for a spin. Might help take your mind of things?  _[10/12]_
> 
> **M:**  Maybe next time, Warren. Probably going to stay in the cave today.  _[10/12]_
> 
> **W:** So mysterious ;p Next time, then. Hope you feel better.  _[10/12]_
> 
> **W:** Here for you.  _[10/12]_

Max sighed.  _My knight in shining armor._

She thought carefully before she typed and sent another message.

> **M:** Hey Warren, you busy?  _[10/13]_

She had just begun to set her phone down when it buzzed.

> **W:** Hey! Nope. What's the word, Max?  _[10/13]_
> 
> **M:** Need to vent a little. Or take my mind off things.  _[10/13]_
> 
> **W:** I got you. I'm in the caf, but I can be at the dorms in like two minutes.  _[10/13]_
> 
> **M:** Can we meet at the fountain? Need a few minutes.  _[10/13]_
> 
> **W:** Sure thing.  _[10/13]_
> 
> **M:** Thx. See you soon.  _[10/13]_

Her hands were shaking as she pocketed the phone. She tried to calm them, to breathe deliberately, but outside her door the signs of student life were sounding off already. Even on a Sunday, the young women in the hall were restless. Max steeled herself as best she could, packed her notebook in her bag, and reached for the door. From the corner of her eye she saw the camera her parents had bought her, nearly hidden beneath some dirty laundry on the sofa. It was as pristine as it had ever been.

 _This really is a different timeline,_ she thought.  _A different reality._

Quick breaths. Trembling fingers. A cold patch of sweat on her neck.

_I'm going to see everyone . . . everyone I . . . I chose not to save._

She recoiled from the door.

 _I don't know a thing about what's happened here. I don't know what I've said or to who or about what. Two steps out that door and I could see everyone and they'd see me and what if when they do they notice that I'm not . . ._ me _? Not the me they think I am._

Her head was suddenly on fire, a searing flash of heat between her temples. Her vision blurred and her knees buckled. With a groan she doubled over, hands clasped against her skull.

_Fuck! What is this!_

She grabbed at the wall to keep herself from falling over, and almost as quickly as it had arrived, the pain subsided and her vision cleared.

 _What on Earth was that?_ She stood upright and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror by the door.  _Jesus, Max, you're whiter than normal._

Two deep breaths and a stern glare at herself in the mirror -  _You're a time warrior, Max. You can do this. Play it cool, pretend you've been here the whole time. You've done this before_ \- and she was through the door.

The hallway was alive with noise, but was seemingly empty. Max peered toward the exit and noticed that everyone had grouped beneath a man in coveralls on a ladder. Juliet and Victoria right below him, jabbing at him defiantly. The man seemed both annoyed and fairly intimidated. He was attaching something to the ceiling.

 _Great,_ Max thought.  _Just what I need. An angry mob blocking the exit._  

Behind most of the bodies, closer to Max, stood Alyssa and Kate. Alyssa, the taller of the two, was relaying what she could see down to her friend. Max felt the oxygen leave her body once she saw them.

_What are you doing here, Max?_

_You're like my guardian angel, Max._

_Don't let us die, Max._

Max leaned against the wall and braced her core, fought back the burning in her eyes, and continued forward down the hall - composed. She walked quietly up behind them.

"I don't know," said Alyssa on her toes. "They keep talking over one another. Juliet probably wants an interview. Victoria is just being catty, as always."

Kate shook her head. "As always."

"Hey, Kate. Alyssa," Max stood beside them, her arms clamped to her sides to keep from sweating.

"Hey, Max, good to see you out of your room," Alyssa smiled and returned to gawking.

Kate smiled at her, though there was pain pulling at the edges of her eyes. "Hey, Max. How are you feeling?"

Max shrugged. "Like I've stepped into another dimension, honestly."

"It does feel that way," Kate was toying with the cross trinket hanging from her neck. "Hard to believe how different everything is."

"Yeah," Max looked down the hall. "How are you?"

"Better since we talked the other day," she smiled genuinely. "We should get tea again some time soon."

"Of course."

Max felt a brief, warm reprieve from the tension in her chest. She almost wanted to reach out and touch her - hug her tightly just to ensure she was really there.

"Alyssa, what's going on over there?" Max asked.

"Beats me," Alyssa sank back to her heels. "Victoria and Juliet started harassing the guy installing the cameras. Everyone else just kinda walked out to see what was going on. Pretty crazy shit, if you ask me."

 _Cameras? In the dorms?_ "David Madsen, right?"

Kate nodded. "He and Principal Wells have been on the warpath this week. I hear that we're getting a new curfew, too."

Max felt strangely disappointed in David. She knew explicitly the good he was capable of.

_While I was in my hotel room feeling sorry for myself?_

Max shut her eyes and forced the memory from her mind.

"You okay, Max?" Kate put her hand on her shoulder. "It's been a tough week."

Max took the sight of her in for a moment. "I don't know. I wish I did."

"You've been really strong," Kate moved in for a quick hug. "We've both had to deal with so much."

Max smiled. "Thank you. We have."

"Alright! I'm done here! Move, please!" The man installing the camera removed himself from the ladder and left as quickly as he could, fumbling through the door loudly.

"Good riddance!" Victoria shouted after him. "You tell that pervert David Madsen there'll be hell to pay!" 

"Hopefully this mob goes back to their regularly scheduled Sunday rituals," said Max.

Kate smiled. "I'm not a fan of large crowds either. So, I get what you mean."

"Yeah." Max looked away. "Well, I should get going. I'm meeting Warren."

"I'm glad you're out and talking with people again," Kate smiled. "Text me soon."

"Of course."

They waved goodbye as the crowd dispersed and returned to their rooms. Most acknowledged Max with a smile as she passed them - Dana even touched her shoulder. She was decidedly blank as she walked through them - a gallery of memories that never happened. Juliet and Victoria were speaking quickly with one another as she passed.

"Hey, Max, hold on." Victoria's manicured nails reached for her sleeve.

Max turned nervously. "Yes?"

Victoria started to mouth something, then paused, searching the area below her for something to say.

Juliet rolled her eyes. "How are you, Max?"

Max shrugged again.  _Who am I? Quasimodo?_

"We all hope you're okay, you know," Victoria piped up. "Just saying."

Max was taken aback.

_I don't want to die, I'm only eighteen!_

Juliet stepped forward. "Max, if I'm out of line please let me know, but I was wondering if I could talk to you a little bit about your friend? Maybe something for the paper. Again you don't have -"

"I'll think about it," Max said quickly. "I'll let you know."

Juliet nodded. Victoria stood just behind her, visibly uncomfortable. Max smiled at them both and left.

"Well done, Victoria." Juliet shook her head.

"Fuck it," she retorted. "I tried to be nice."

Halfway down the stairwell, Max checked above and below to be sure she was out of sight. She leaned into the corner of the wall, sank to her heels, and pressed her hands against her face. With silent convulsions, she mourned the many people still upstairs - her role in their deaths.

* * *

**B-Side**

 

Seattle, blanketed in chill, bathed in clear sun. Not a storm in sight. Chloe smoked in the window as Max watched her. She exhaled a grey plume, wafted it outside, and gave her companion a pointed look.

"You know, it's flattering, but also kinda weird to have you stare at me like that."

"I know, I just . . . I never thought I'd get to do it again."

Chloe fought hard not to blush.

"I can't even tell you how crazy it is that - that you're right here in front of me."

"You haven't gone anywhere for me, you know," Chloe said. "I left you alone for, like, twenty minutes, your Dad gives me a life lesson and shows me this depressing as fuck picture, and suddenly you aren't the real Max."

Max pinched her forearm. "Seems pretty real to me."

"Smartass," she exhaled. "I mean, what you're telling me is that you're not  _my_ Max, right?"

"It's hard to explain. I don't even know enough about it to explain it."

"Can you try?"

"Well . . . when I went back to save William. It was still me, with all of my memories. In that reality I was still me, in  _my_ body, but before the moment I, uh, 'arrived' - it wasn't. It was a different me with different memories."

"You couldn't remember anything? Just like when we went to David about Jefferson."

"Yes."

"Only, you didn't have anyone to fill you in on the details."

"Exactly."

"This is heavy, Doc," Chloe tossed the cigarette through the window and shut it.

"Look, Chloe," Max stood. "I only decided to - I only made that choice a few days ago, and . . . and it erased  _everything_."

"I bet it did," Chloe sighed. "It was my idea, remember?"

Max was silent.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

She gestured that she wasn't sure. "I've been locked up inside my dorm for the last few days. That's pretty much it."

"And everyone else is alive?"  _Fuck you, Chloe, you know the answer to that question._

Max's demeanor sank. Guilt.

 _There you go again._ "Hey," she said. "Seeing as we have no clue why you're suddenly a body-snatcher, let's say we take this conversation on the road?"

"Huh?"

"I mean it," Chloe swiped her keys from the desk. "We've had our coffee. Let's go get some food. Aren't you hungry?"

"Pretty nauseous, actually."

"Okay, then. Well, I'm starving. Your parents are probably gonna want to sit us down and talk some more. Meanwhile I'm teetering on the edge of a total mental breakdown, so I say we bounce on out of here and get a burger."

"My _parents_. Shit."

Chloe walked over to her, put her hands on her shoulders. "Max, Captain of the Time Bandit-"

"Is that a Deadliest Catch referen-?"

"-So much crazy shit has happened to us over the past week that, honestly, I'm kinda numb to the head-fuckery right now. I'll believe pretty much however you explain this. We'll catch each other up on everything, but first-"

She leaned in closely.

"-Burgers."

Max nodded. "I'm kinda spaced right now, too. Would be nice to get out, do something other than stare at a wall."

"Exactly! Grab your jacket." Chloe started to push her toward the door. "If we're lucky, we'll get past your parents just fine."

_You're doing it again. Deflecting. Hiding. This isn't Max. It is, but it isn't. One of these days running won't be an option._

They had managed to get down the staircase when Vanessa called after them from her bedroom. "Maxine? Is that you?"

"Not so lucky," Max whispered to Chloe.

"You up, Max?" Ryan called from the kitchen.

Chloe noticed Max clamming up.  _She didn't choose you._

"Yeah, it's us!" She said for her.

Vanessa appeared upstairs, closing her bathrobe. "You're dressed? You two heading out?"

"You're leaving?" Ryan was in the kitchen doorway.

"Just going out for a bit," Chloe motioned to the door. "Get some fresh air. See the sights."

"Are you sure?" Swiftly, Vanessa managed the stairs and was standing before them. "How are you two feeling? Max? You look pale. Both of you do. Don't you think we should talk about-"

"Ness," Ryan's dulcet timber turned their heads. "Let 'em go. They'll be back."

Vanessa's jaw clenched. She turned back to her daughter. "Max?"

She nodded. "We'll be fine.

"Yeah," Chloe grinned. "Just need to recharge a little. Take our minds off everything."

"You know I worry, Max."

"I know."

"You sure you guys don't need a ride? Chloe your truck . . . it's-"

"Ness."

"You're right, you're right. Just be careful, you two. And we need to talk when you get back, okay?"

"Will do." They made for the front door.

"Guys?" Ryan said.

They paused halfway through the door, arms up their jacket sleeves.

"Not, too late, okay?"

"Yeah," said Chloe. "No problem."

They were out of the house, two lean figures crossing the lawn, and climbed into Chloe's patchwork pickup truck.

_She didn't choose you._

She started the truck, Max at her side, and pulled away from the house.

_It was the right thing to do._

* * *

**Dead Leaves**

 

Max ambled through the dormitory courtyard. The cross-cutting pathways were spotted with fallen leaves. She deliberately avoided stepping on them. The Tobanga Totem stood watch from its hill in the thinning treeline. The door to the utility room was propped open with a dirty rake, most likely Samuel's doing. Max stood in the center pathway, the wind teased her hair against her cheek. The sky was clear, the trees intact, and all else was still and quiet. Squirrels by the garbage can scurried about, seeking treats. It was as if she had gone back in time, a time before storms and guns and -

_Little pieces of time._

She sighed. The courtyard, housed by skyward pines and old brickwork, was starkly vacant.  _It's like I never had my power. Like I was never here at all._

Her pocket buzzed - Warren.

> **W:** At the fountain. Close?  _[10/13]_

She zipped her hoodie to the neck and hurried along, but allowed herself one lingering glance at the roof of the dormitories - a spire of sorts elevated from the rest of the building - before rounding the corner toward the school. Warren was waiting for her, shaggy hair buffeted by the subtle wind rolling across the grounds. He sat on the concrete lip of the fountain at the Academy's main entrance. The glass displays along the sidewalk, once housing the notable works of one Mark Jefferson, were empty.

"Max!" Warren waved his arm overhead. "Over here!"

She saw him, waved back, but slowed her pace. His face was free of bruises, happy to see her, unchanged by any of her decision making.

 _What could he know about time travel? About alternate realities? Would he think I'm crazy?_   _What has this Max said to him? Still, it's crazy he's just sitting there, like nothing ever happened._

Eventually she reached him. He stood from his seat and offered his arm for a hug, which Max accepted - though, his grip was tighter than she expected.

"The Max attack," he said. "Look who wandered out from her cave."

Max sat beside him, pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah, it's been a crazy week."

"Totally," Warren adopted a milder tone. "Anything you want to talk about?"

"Not about that, no. But it is nice to finally be out talking to people. Even if everyone seems to be upset."

"I bet. Everyone's going crazy about these new security cameras. They're putting them up everywhere."

"I may be misremembering, but wasn't Miss Grant fighting that?"

"I mean, sure, but how could you fight it now? Everything went loco, not that I need to tell you."

"Right."

A short gust of wind. Leaves scraped across the pathways, tumbled after one another.

"So, how are you really feeling?" He leaned closer, though not offensively.

Max looked away. She wondered if her eyes showed signs of her crying.

"You don't have to say anything," he eased off slightly. "But, I'm a good listener - if that helps."

"It might," she took a deep breath, considered her words carefully. "Have you ever - it just feels like this isn't real, you know? Like I've been away for a really long time and somehow I'm back, and nothing's the same."

He pondered her words for a moment and shrugged in agreement. "Sure. Definitely. I think most people knew that something was going on behind the scenes here at Blackwell, and I guess Arcadia, but to have it all come out like this . . . and so violently. I don't know. And with Wells trying to act like everything's okay? Opening the school so soon - I know a few people are going home."

"I've been locked up for too long. I feel like I don't know what's going on."

"I mean, me either. And I live here, too."

"Yeah," Max eyed the window to Principal Wells' office.  _The Blackwell Ninjas strike again._ "Anyways, how are you Warren?"

"I mean," he rubbed his neck. "Good, I guess. Took the new ride to that drive-in yesterday."

"Oh? Did you-"

She arched her arms.

"- _G_ _o ape_?"

He smiled. "Yeah! Wait, how'd you know?"

Her heart skipped a beat. _Shit!_ Quickly she replied, "I read about it online, duh. They were only showing the one movie, right?"

Warren nodded, "You're a quick one, that's for sure. But yeah, Brooke and I went together."

Max felt a twinge of relief. "And?"

"It was  _alright_ ," he made a face. "She wasn't really into the movie and, to be honest-"

He leaned in as if to tell a secret.

"-She wasn't my first choice."

"Right." Max wasn't sure if she should chuckle or scoot over a bit.

Warren's sly smile faded quickly. "I'm kidding, obviously."

"Obviously."

"Uh, anyway. Did you, uh, did you want to talk about anything specific or did you just want to catch up or . . ."

"Right, yes, um, okay. This is kinda silly, but you know that USB you let me borrow?"

He perked up. "Oh yeah? You finally watch all my movie booty?"

"Working on it, for sure, but, well, it got me thinking about supernatural stuff. You know, and real Sci-Fi stuff. Time travel and alternate realities."

"Really?" Warren looked at her quizzically. "Which one? Cannibal Holocaust? Lovecraft's Gore Machine?"

"Wait," Max held out her hand. "No, it wasn't-"

"Revenge of the Baby Shredders?"

"No-"

"I can see The Tentacle Man from Another Universe, maybe."

"Warren."

"Right. Sorry."

"It's alright. It wasn't really any particular movie, just . . . you know, a feeling I got after watching a few of them. I don't know, I've been interested in some Sci-Fi. Something brain-twisty."

"Yeah, for sure. I can hook you up with a few more movies. We can go get the USB and-"

"Well, maybe not movies. Just in general, you know?"

"How do you mean?"

"You've never been curious about that sort of thing? Like, what if there was a different version of you, walking around somewhere in a reality similar to, but different than this one?"

"Whoa," Warren rubbed his chin. "Very trippy, Max. But, I like this train of thought we've hopped on."

"I mean, you know some stuff about that kind of thing, right?"

Warren shrugged. "Not really. I could tell you some stuff about _this_ universe, you know? Like, maybe when the next eclipse is, or which star is which if we were to go stargazing or something."

"Okay."

"But nothing too crazy, like string-theory, or the multi-verse theory. That's a bit above my reading level."

"You love to read."

"Yeah, but mostly garbage Horror or Sci-Fi, nothing too technical. I mean, I love science, don't get me wrong. I've seen enough movies to know how to make like, a pipe-bomb or something. But I'm barely passing chemistry as it is. The secrets of the universe remain hidden to me."

"Me too," she said. "Might be worth looking into, though, right?"

"If it'd make you happy, Max. Sure thing," Warren beamed. "I'm the man for the job."

"Thanks, Warren. I know it's silly, but it'd help a lot right now."

"I totally get it. Anything to distract us from all this."

The tension in her chest was waning.  _I don't know how this is happening, how I'm here, but I'm almost glad I am. Sort of._

"It's gonna be good for us," he continued. "I'm just glad you're talking again. You didn't say much at the funeral. I was worried about you."

And with that, the tension returned.  _He must mean Chloe's funeral._ Briefly she remembered the very first time she used her power, when Chloe was falling lifeless to the floor of the girl's bathroom. The butterfly gliding through the air vent. The click and whir of her camera. A brief flash of light before her life would change forever. She pressed her hand against her forehead.

"Whoa, you okay? I didn't mean to-"

Max rose quickly, eager to put on a steady front. "No, it's fine. I'm fine. I just . . . I don't actually remember much of the funeral or - or what happened with Nathan and Chloe. Like I said, I feel like I've been somewhere else."

"I really didn't mean to bring it up."

"It's fine. Really. It's just been hard."

Warren placed his hand gently on her shoulder. "She was your friend right?"

Pain in her chest, difficult to repress, she gave him a teary smile. "Yeah. When we were kids. Best friends. I hadn't - when I came back from Seattle, I always meant to reach out to her."

Warren looked down.

She looked up at the building, towering over her like a monument to her mistakes. "I guess I never did."

"I'm sorry, Max."

Moisture fell from her eyes, but she was quick to catch it with her sleeve. Without thinking, she said, "God, it's so weird to be here right now."

"I definitely see what you mean." Warren removed his hand from her and joined her in glaring up the face of the building. "This place has always been kinda weird, but not mad-science weird - not voodoo weird. But hey-"

He looked at her encouragingly, which she appreciated.

"I'll help you however I can," he smiled. "Promise."

* * *

**Something Good**

 

Chloe's truck creaked and groaned through suburban intersections, stop signs and cross-walks. Max, in the passenger seat, observed the surroundings cautiously. Downtown wasn't far off, high-rises clearly positioned in the distance. The scenery passed under Max's reflection on the window.

"Pretty crazy, huh?" Chloe asked.

"It's like a dream," she responded. "Like I'm just waiting to wake up." Max turned to her. "You said we could catch each other up? Like before?"

Chloe kept her sights ahead. "Uh, yeah. Sure."  _Fuck._

"What happened after?"

 _Fuck fuck._ "After?"

"After the storm?"

Chloe pursed her lips. "Well, uh, you and I, well -  _my_ Max and I - we drove here. Once the tornado was gone we just, you know . . . we left."

Max found this difficult. Her brow twitched. "But what about the town?"

"What about it?" 

"You didn't stop to-"

"Hey." Chloe held up her hand. "We had to drive right through it, okay?"

"And?"

 _Stay calm._ "And what?" She retorted. "It was fucking obliterated."

"You mean-"

 _Calmer than that._ "Yeah, dude. Gone. Busted. Roasted. Everything was either upside down or as flat as a pancake, alright? Next question."

Max seemed stung. Chloe exhaled sharply, gripped the steering wheel more tightly.  _Way to go._

"No one else made it out? Just us?"

"As far as I know, but . . ."

"But what?"

"I don't know. I shouldn't think about it, but part of me keeps thinking that it's only been a few days."

"So it's 'We don't know'; not 'Everyone's dead'?"

"Max . . ." She looked away.  _Talk. Say what you feel._

Max's phone vibrated - a text from her father.

"What's it say?" Chloe asked.

"He put some more money in my - your Max's - uh . . . the account."

"Oh, goody," Chloe smirked. "Guess you're buying lunch."

They continued out of the suburbs, passed several strip outlets, gas stations and drive-thru's. Chloe kept driving, her foot heavy on the gas pedal all the way. Her stomach growled loudly and the two of them looked at one another.

"I'm just waiting for something to jump out at me," Chloe explained.  _You're just driving to drive._

"I know a diner. It's not Two Whales quality, but it's good. It's a bit further in town."

 _No. Never._ "It's up to you. This is your turf."

Max nodded, but remained anxious. She was shifting in her seat, unable to keep her attention out the window or on Chloe. After a lengthy pause at a red light, the chuff of the truck's idling engine abated and she cleared her throat.

"Chloe, I . . . I dreamt about you last night."

Her eyebrow quirked up.  _Oh?_

"And not in a good way."

_Oh._

"This might be a stretch, but, maybe my dreams have something to do with me being here?"

Chloe righted her posture. "How do you mean?"

"I don't know. Ever since I went back, I've been having these-"

"Nightmares. I know. Or, well, my Max has been having them, too."

"What did I - she - what were they about?"

"You -  _she_ never told me, but I could tell. The first night on our own we had to sleep in the truck. She was tossing and turning most of the night. It didn't look good."

"They've been terrible. Almost as bad as the one on the beach."

"Really?"

"Yes. They're painful. Like my mind is being ripped in half."

"But how would that - how would a nightmare put you -" Chloe grunted loudly. "How does a nightmare fuck with time?"

"What if it  _didn't_. I fell asleep in my dorm  _last night._ Besides, I can't go back in time beyond a few minutes - not without a photo to focus on."

"This is fucking with my head."

"Me too."

"And Chloe, your Max and I . . . we're the same person. I have every memory of us together over the last week. The bathroom, the diner, the pool."

Chloe fought a rush of heat on her cheeks.

"I'm still Max.  _Your_ Max. I don't think we're different."

_I can think of a pretty significant difference._

"Chloe, I haven't felt the same since I made that choice and-"

"Alright," she interjected. "This is trippy enough. I know you're the master detective, but maybe we can slow the roll on our deducing for a second. Okay?"

"I know, but-"

"Please," Chloe looked at her sternly. "It's been non-stop all week. People have died.  _I've_ died. It felt like it was over, but now it's not? If you're still you, then you know we've been through more in the last few days than is technically even possible.  _Especially_ you. Why does there have to be something else going on? We have to take a break eventually, right?"

Max looked sideways, thought, and returned with an assuring nod. "Actually, you're right. I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm here, but I'm here. There's no guarantee I'll be here tomorrow. This could be some cosmic fluke, some crazy guilt-trip of a hallucination, or something else. But being here with you? This is exactly what I've wanted the last few days. Fuck it."

 _Fuck it!_ "That's the spirit, Max! The universe's got nothing on my procrastination skills. First, food, because this lady has to eat. Then . . . what? What else is there to do?"

Max jolted with an epiphany. "There's this really cool arcade downtown I've always wanted to go to!"

"Junk food and video games. Now we're talking."  _You aren't talking. You're running._

Chloe pressed down hard on the accelerator, Max at her side, directing her where to go.

_You can't outrun this. You never could._

Once in town, the truck was hard to miss. Chloe waved to a man in a convertible, glaring in disgust at the rusty tub beside him. The buildings grew higher, the roads more dense - brick sidewalks clamoring with weekenders and littered with bicycles and fallen leaves.

"Should've brought your camera," Chloe sneered, maneuvering through a busy intersection.

Max chuckled.

They snaked their way through a parking garage a block from the diner. They exited into the wide concrete corridor, truck doors creaking loudly as they shut them. Their footsteps echoed, Chloe's boots and Max's sneakers. Chloe lit a cigarette.

"You left your window down." Max looked over her shoulder.

"Who the fuck is breaking into that thing?"

On the street, Chloe took a moment to lean back and trace the high-rises upward - what she could see through her smoke. Though vertical, Seattle's streets were packed densely with older architecture - its past and present sifted together. The Puget Sound was visible through a crack in the wall of civilization. She thought of trains, hard-clasped hands swaying down the Santa Monica Pier, and a room full of stars.

"You okay?" Max was ahead of her.

She gave her a thumbs up and caught up. "Just day dreaming."

"Well, dream no more." Max pointed to the street corner, where a chrome trimmed diner sat beneath a larger brick complex. "Best burgers in the city."

"Really?"

"I actually don't know. I've only had their waffles."

"Good enough for me."

They were not the best burgers in the city, but they were serviceable. They sat in one of a row of booths, each provided a wide tinted window with a view of the street. Chloe had nearly cleaned her plate before finally opting to talk.

"Jesus, are you breathing?" Max asked, hand over her mouth as she chewed.

Chloe took a lengthy swig of her soda. "Your dad was literally having coffee for breakfast. I would've asked for food, but he kinda hijacked the conversation."

Max nodded. "He can be that way. He's very hands off unless he feels he has a point to make. What did he say about, you know, us coming up?"

"Not much, actually. Just that he was sorry about everything. Your mom was very nice. I don't think she expected this."

Chloe pointed to her hair and tattoo, then her outfit.

"I didn't either." Max smiled. "But I like it."

"Oh, shut it." She puffed out her chest. "It's a statement. Anarchy. Fight the power. Heavy music. A babe on either arm. And standing out in a crowd of Abercrombie drones."

"And the blue hair?"

"Priss! Duh!"

Max tapped the table. "That's right! I think you told me that."

"Dude," Chloe scoffed. "Who the fuckeven knows what's really happened and what hasn't? We've tried this, remember? All the lines and realities get so tangled up. There's no straight line from me to you. I mean," She bit into her hamburger, "Think about it. You had to bend the universe over your knee just to go swimming with me. And you aren't even the version of you that was here yesterday. Isn't that insane? And I had to . . . well, my whole life had to blow up just so I could keep living it."

"Yeah."

Chloe saw a blonde woman behind the counter. Her heart was suddenly heavy.

She set her sandwich down. "You know, this burger's kinda weak."

"I know. At least the fries are soggy."

Chloe laughed. "Don't be a goob. So, where's this arcade?"

They left the diner full, but functional. The arcade, two stories tall, was just down the street. Chloe walked several paces ahead of Max, who beckoned her to slow down. The windows were blacked out, offering no prelude to the neon phantasmagoria inside. They could hear the raucous shenanigans awaiting them from the street.

"Are you ready for this?" Chloe asked.

"Born ready."

They entered, leaving the sea-water and slow-drip coffee scent of the street behind them. Grunge-inspired graffiti was splashed across the walls, a fog machine poured mist across the floor - no lights but for the flashing screens of the machines, new and old. They stood in awe of the rows of harmonizing synthesizer jingles and flashing coin slots, old joystick platformers the size of vending machines, air-hockey tables, and billiards tables illuminated by black-light. People of all ages and sexes drooled in front of their favored game.

They muscled their way to the nearest coin dispenser, swiped Max's card, and were off. Chloe grabbed her by the arm and placed her in front of a cooperative zombie shooter.

"I'm not good at these types of games!"

"Tough shit," Chloe said, grabbing the plastic shotgun and cycling an imaginary round. "You can't play Final Fantasy for the rest of your life."

The screen displayed pixelated blood graphics before the game's title appeared across it:  _Zombie House III: The Revenge._

"Oh god, it's starting." Max aimed her shotgun. "What do I do?"

"See zombie. Pull trigger."

The intro finished and the first level loaded: A dim corridor full of doors. The camera progressed and before long, doors swung open to reveal the brain-craving undead. Max, startled, yelped and began firing.

"There you go, Max! Two down, hordes more to go!"

With each plastic trigger-pull, bright light flashed and zombies wailed blood-curdling death-moans. Max fired frenetically, while Chloe kept a cool eye on screen.

"There's so many!"

"Keep firing!"

In time, however, they were overrun, and their brains consumed.

"That was fun," Max said, holstering the toy weapon.

"In a world ruled by the dead, we are forced to finally start living," Chloe said grimly.

"What's that from?"

Chloe rolled her eyes in jest and walked away.

"I know that's a quote from something," Max followed her. "Come on, what's it from?"

The pings and pangs, the digital enunciations of the games followed them everywhere. They tried their hands at shooters, dungeon crawlers, and several failed attempts at a claw machine.

"It's fucking rigged!" Chloe griped as she smacked the glass, a Hawt Dawg Man plush positioned mockingly within sight.

"I told you."

They settled for a game of pool upstairs, under the blacklights. A group of young men eyed Chloe up and down from an adjacent table. Max pointed this out to her.

"They fucking wish. You break."

As they played, Chloe couldn't help but linger on Max. The lighting, a nifty trick to distort the color of the billiard balls, also distorted their bodies. The primary colors of their figures and clothes were switched, nearly the opposite of what they should be. Max, bent over the edge of the table to pocket a striped ball, was suddenly a stranger. Chloe watched as the ball skid across the matting and landed in the corner pocket.  _She isn't real._

"You're hella kicking my ass, SuperMax." Chloe said.

She responded with a sort of curtsy.

_She's going to leave you._

* * *

**Lullaby**

 

Walking through the dormitory was easier in the late afternoon. The cold was held in place by the trees, clinging to the campus. Max strode through the hall, encumbered by a tall stack of books in her arms - each pertaining to some element or theory of time-travel or alternate realities. Warren had helped her find them in the library and carry them to the Girl's Dorm, but honored the NO BOYS ALLOWED plaque displayed near the entrance. She passed Kate's room, the door cracked open slightly, and waved as best she could. Kate returned the courtesy and dipped back into the sketchbook in her lap.

Max squeaked into her room, let the textbooks land loudly on the floor, then shut the door behind her. She stood admiring her haul, but knew she had a week's worth of work ahead of her. Yet, the camera on the sofa continued to steal her attention. Its lens poked out slightly from under a pair of jeans. Deciding then that the reading could wait, she retrieved it.

 _I can't believe you're in one piece,_ she thought as she examined it.

She cradled it in her arm, upturning it to check for damage along its bottom.

 _Not a scratch._ _I wonder if -_

Under the sofa was her bag. A pinch of nervousness propelled her hand to retrieve it and root through its contents. Her fingers found purchase on a tattered composition book. She could hear Jefferson's subdued cackle at the sight of her charred diary. 

 _Would they still be here? S_ he thought.  _All my pictures and entries?_

But she remembered as she leafed through its pages - everything she'd done since saving Chloe had been erased. All but - 

A single square photograph fell from the book and landed face down. She knelt, reaching for it cautiously. As her fingers touched it, a sound emitted from seemingly nowhere.

_What the hell? What is this?_

Braving the oddity, she flipped the photograph to reveal a shining metal bucket, ornamented with a stunning blue-winged butterfly. Max recoiled instantly, landing backwards on the pile of books.

_How?! Why?!_

She again turned to the diary, checking its entries. Her heart began to race as she approached the day she discovered her power, but after a snide entry about Victoria sucking up to Jefferson, it was blank. She flipped the page to see a tear-pocked entry written around a square space large enough to fit the photograph:  

> I don't know what happened. I remember taking this photo, and the next thing I know I'm on the floor and Chloe?! Dead?! Nathan?! WHAT THE FUCK?! I can't believe this is happening. I can't put it together. None of this makes sense. Why didn't I just TEXT HER for FUCK's sake?! It would have taken two minutes. Two FUCKING minutes and I'd FINALLY have someone in this town I could talk to. I could've been there. I could have done something. Oh god. Chloe. This photo . . . it has to mean something. It has to.

She swallowed hard and continued flipping through the pages until the day of the funeral:

> I'm back. After everything . . . I had to bury her. I saved her, then I buried her. I don't know what else to say. It's like a dream. The butterfly on the casket . . . it had to have been her. Maybe she's still out there, somewhere. I can still taste her, smell the ocean, hear the rain and debris falling. I was an idiot for thinking I could save anyone. The best thing I could've done was nothing. Literally nothing. It's strange reading the entries from this week. Like my body continued on autopilot until I got back to it. Time makes no sense. Oh well, I'm done with that. I'm done with everything. Everyone else is alive, I did the right thing, and there's nothing more to say. Nothing more to do. Maybe I'll keep the photo . . . I can't bring myself to get rid of it.

Without focusing on it, Max fit the photo back onto its respective page. She then pulled a pencil from the case in her bag, leafed to a blank page, and began writing. Before long, her eyes were heavy and her mind blurry. Careful to place the diary within sight of the bed, she traded her jeans and hoodie for pajamas, crawled into bed, and slid into sleep.

* * *

**Cross to Bear**

 

Chloe pulled off the road, somewhere high enough to see the Puget Sound in all its shimmering splendor. The sun was a tangerine, poised above the water and the distant lines of forest across it. They were north of the city, far enough away to hide in taller trees and watch the lazy ships crawl into their ports down below. Chloe parked when she was sure they couldn't be seen from the main road, the back of the vehicle facing a wide open view of the city and the water, the trees beyond. She beckoned Max from the cabin, then carefully removed the blanket covering the seat cushion - revealing the pitted and dirty foam beneath it.

Max was disgusted. "We've been sitting on that?"

"No." Chloe held up the blanket. "We've been sitting on this. Come on."

They rounded the vehicle and she popped the tailgate down for them to sit. A brittle chill swept up the sharp descent to meet them. Their perch was little more than a tiny clearing at the lip of a steep drop-off, flanked by swaying evergreens to form a canopy. The setting sun cut through the branches, casting rays and shadows.

"How high up do you think we are?" Max asked, fixing herself on the tailgate.

"No more than back home." Chloe sat beside her and tossed the blanket over their laps.

"It does look a lot like Arcadia Bay."

"Same sunset." Chloe squinted. "Isn't there a name for this?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, when the sun sets and everything is orange or whatever. There's a name for it."

Max scoffed gently and smiled. "It doesn't matter."

Beside one another, they could see nearly all of the Sound, how it stretched out for miles until it met the sliver of the Olympic Forest. A gull or two would glide down below, homeward bound.

 _I wish I could stay here forever,_ Chloe thought.  _Stay in the truck, on the coast, and keep moving._

"This is peaceful," said Max. "I didn't think I'd ever feel this way again."

_Talk. To. Her. You. Asshole._

Chloe cleared her throat. "You know, Rachel and I . . . we used to go to the lighthouse to watch the sunset."

Max seemed surprised. "Are you sure you want to talk about her?"

"Yeah, I - I think I need to. About a lot of things. I was kinda hoping that I could talk to my Max about it, but . . . I don't know. Today was fun, so, maybe you aren't some nega-Max."

"I'm not. I promise. I'm the same Max, just-" 

Chloe held up a finger. "I know the difference. And trust me, it really freaks me out, but hey - here you are. Here  _I_ am. So, here goes."

"Take your time."

The wind died down, the rustling branches quieted.  _Keep going. Don't cop out._

"Max, I'm worried."

"What about?"

She looked around, fighting tears. "Jesus fuck, what  _aren't_ I worried about? Two days ago we were standing on a ledge just like this. Everyone I've ever known, loved or hated was down in that town and . . . it felt like you and I were finally facing down the world. It wasn't just _your_ storm, Max. Every shitty thing that's ever happened to me, every punkass like Nathan who tried to take advantage of me. Everyone who'd ever left me. They were the storm. My Dad, David, Rachel, Mom . . . every feeling I've bottled up and tried to run from, or tried to fight, it was right there. It was so . . .  _violent._ "

She made a fist and tapped it on her thigh. Max sat patiently.

"To see it all like that. Everything that's ever been out of my control. I wanted to give up so badly. I didn't . . . I  _couldn't_ let it win. That photo . . . it was the only thing I thought might help. But I watched you tear it up - throw it away into the storm. You  _chose_ me, when everyone else - even Rachel - let me go."

"What happened to Rachel was-"

"Fucking disgusting, I know. I see those  _fucking_ pictures in my sleep. But . . . but she never chose me. I chose her, over and over. I did so many stupid things with her." She laughed, wiped her face with the back of her hand. "I guess now that I know she's gone, not just vanished - I guess I know that she wanted too many things - too many things to ever choose me."

Max slid her hand beneath Chloe's and laced her fingers through hers.

"I may have been an asshole," Chloe breathed shakily. "But I gave her my all. I kept searching for her. I kept looking even when her dead-beat liar of a father stopped."

"I know. You never gave up."

"Neither did you, Max." She looked at her. "You disappeared, sure. But you saved me. You could've left it at that, but instead? As fucked up as the storm was - whatever it meant to you or to me - you stayed by my side. You chose me over, and over again. I can't . . . it just meant so much. But now? I don't even know if it's the real you. You look like Max, you sound like Max, you dance as badly as Max."

Max smiled tentatively.

"But, you aren't my Max. You aren't evil Max, but . . .  _you_ didn't choose me."

She let go of Chloe's hand, choked back tears of her own. "I know."

Chloe looked away, waited for more.

"I . . . I wanted to," she continued as best she could. "Letting you go . . . the guilt. The last few days have . . . they've felt like weeks without you."

Chloe watched her, her own eyes sore.

Max swallowed hard, glanced out at the vista laid before them. "When you told me that Arcadia Bay was gone, that everyone else is gone - it almost didn't matter to me. I know that sounds awful, but its true, because here I am looking at you. I'm so sorry about the guilt you feel - and don't deny it. I can see it on your face whenever you say you're daydreaming."

"I am guilty." Chloe said, then turned away. "I'm guilty of living when I shouldn't have. That's been the problem this whole time. It's why we can't catch a fucking break. It's why, even when you do choose me, you get taken away from me - just like every one else who ever has."

"I never wanted to make any choices!" Max's voice rose abruptly. "I never wanted a superpower! I'm  _not_ SuperMax, I'm not action hero Max, I'm not the captain of the fucking Time Bandit. I'm Max. I didn't want to be some star-crossed conduit for the multi-verse. The only power I had was to watch you die - again and again. If I could've sat in my dorm and had nothing ever happen to me, I would've done it. I would've hated every second of it, but that's what I would've done. But that's  _not_ what happened. I  _found_ you, I tried my best to save you. And by going back . . . Chloe, I didn't save anyone,  _you_ did. All my power did was fuck everything up. If you hadn't convinced me to go back - if you hadn't made that sacrifice, then no one else-"

"Why couldn't it be both?" Chloe tried to control her breathing. "Why are there strings attached? I can't . . . I can't even enjoy a moment like this-"

She gestured to the sunset and the water.

"-I'm not allowed to be happy. I'm not allowed to . . . to-"

She looked at Max.

"-To  _love_ someone, without the universe making my life and everyone else's a living hell. Why is there always a catch?" 

Max stared back at her. "I'm so sorry, Chloe."

She reached her arm around her, pulled her close, and set her chin atop her blue hair. Chloe let it happen, let herself be coddled, nurtured. She didn't trust it, but she needed it.

"It's not your fault." Max whispered.

Chloe let her rock her gently back and forth.

"It's not your fault," she said again.

The wind returned and brought with it the smell of the sea. The expansive landscape spread before them, so much like home, but in no way the same. The two of them, conjoined - silhouetted by the deep amber of the setting sun. For a moment, high above it all, they were at peace. Their worry, their regret, subsided for a moment - enough so that their breathing calmed, and were allowed to enjoy the view set before them.

"Thanks." Chloe sat up, rubbed at her eyes. "I think I feel better."

"Good."

"I have a favor to ask."

"What's that?"

"Can I borrow your phone?"

"Need to make a call?"

"Not now, but . . . in a bit. Either that or you can buy me a new charger?"

"I can do that on the way home, sure."

Chloe sighed loudly. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Sure."

"Was there a funeral?"

Max stiffened immediately.

"Shit, you just got hella pale."

"There, uh, there was."

"What was it like?"

"Chloe, I don't know if you want to hear about it."

"I'm asking, aren't I? Look at me-"

She prodded herself.

"-Clearly not dead. Clearly curious about what happened in the flip-side reality."

Max continued warily. "Well, there was a large procession. Joyce and David were . . ."

"I can imagine. Who else was there?"

"Well, I was. So was Warren, Victoria, Kate, a few other people. Frank was hiding in the bushes, but I could see him. Not that he recognized me."

Chloe pressed her hand into her chest. "Fuck. Frank . . . I knew he had a heart somewhere in there."

"He does."

"You know, maybe we should stop talking about this. I thought I was curious, but . . ."

"There was one thing. It was very strange."

"What?"

"You remember the blue butterfly? In the bathroom?"

"Who could forget . . ."

"One just like it. It flew down and landed right on the casket. It was . . . I don't know. A sign."

Chloe felt nervous. "A sign? Of what?"

Max looked at her intently. "That maybe you were still out there. Somewhere."

They stared at one another. The sun had fallen halfway beneath the horizon - the world was a shadow rising beneath a golden haze.

As the light receded, Max grew worried. "What if . . . what if I wake up tomorrow and I'm gone? What if I'm back at Blackwell?"

Chloe pulled her into a tight embrace.

"I can't go back. I can't lose you twice so soon. I can't."

Chloe pressed her cheek against Max's head.  _I know, Max._

"I - I don't want to go."

 _I know,_ she thought.

She held Max tightly and closed her eyes, just as the shadow overcame the light.


	4. Incubus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What light there is belongs to me."

Black. Above and below - all the same. No trace of light, nor perceptible distinction between the dark beneath her eyelids and the one stretched out before her. Fear gripped her throat. She stood alone in the abyss like an errant buoy, far out on the midnight sea. Though, there were no stars to guide her. Her senses, impaired or unneeded, offered a single solace - the flat ground beneath her feet. What she could feel, feel and nothing else, was a featureless floor upon which she could walk. And she did - for as long as her legs could carry her. Coherent thought eluded her. Her fear was present without question - she was afraid because she had to be. One foot before the other, deliberately and without pause, she strode into the void. Propelled, as she was, by the only truth she could comprehend: that to remain still was to die.

"You're trying too hard."

_I know._

"It's been an honor working with you on these final sessions."

_Thank you._

A single white point appeared. She focused, uncertain if the deviation from the black was small, directly in front of her, or something far larger in the distance. The surface underfoot clung to the skin of her heels as she progressed. Her skin was bare, but no chill found her. Vulnerable, like torn duct tape. Innocence lost - an assuring ignorance as fleeting as the red-eye flash of an instant camera.

_Take your power seriously._

The solid ground beneath her tapered into the consistency of loose soil, then to muck. Her feet began to sink as the white point came closer - a faint hue at its center. Each step forward became a task unto itself, as she had to lift herself from the mire. Fear boiled intensely, forcing heat to flutter furiously in her skin. The slop clung to her ankles, and she stumbled.

_Breathe._

The dark pulled her lower, gnawing further up her shins.

_To be still is to die._

"You belong to me, Max Caulfield."

_To be still is to die._

"You will never be more than what I made of you."

_To be still . . ._

"I could frame any one of you in a dark corner . . ."

_Is to die._

She succumbed to the force below her. Hands and knees both submerged, the viscous matter was at her stomach. The white dot had grown to an orb, floating in a vast obsidian chamber. It cast no reflection or revealing ray of light, it simply was. Nestled in its core was a subtle blue shape. Fear became defeat. She was immobile, sinking further into the abyssal bog. At her ear a sudden breath of warmth sent shivers down her back.

"And capture you in a moment of desperation."

A howl of anger tensed her diaphragm - ambition, restored. With great effort, her hands were free, but the ache of exhaustion already on her. She cried out again, upwards and outwards toward her prison's unseeable walls. One leg free, she could leverage herself forward. Every inch gained was utter torment. To plant her foot and retrieve it was to have the consuming grit of the sludge tear at her skin, but she was so close. Gasping for air, the orb was in full view - only several yards more.

_To be still is to die._

Enclosed in the dazzling orb, the brilliant sapphire of the butterfly's wings. The muck turned to sod, and then to brick-hard terra firma. As she managed to exhume herself from the sludge, she collapsed onto her back - the light of the orb above her. With a weary hand she reached for it, but was shocked by what she saw. Brighter lines traced the texture of her skin, which itself was a darker, white-shadowed indigo. Her focus shifted through her fingers to the orb above them, at the creature trapped inside. In it's glassy surface, she appeared the opposite of what she was, a negative; but in the slowly beating wings of the butterfly, she was herself as she remembered. Energy left her, and her arm fell to her side. Faintly up above her, beyond the orb, she could see what appeared to be a pale impression of herself lingering in the darkness - suspended like a billowing sheet that bore her likeness. But her eyelids fell too quickly to be sure.

Like a pendulum falling from its apex, the creature's wings clasped shut.

She gasped into consciousness. Soft-angled shapes coalesced to produce her bedroom. Chloe, already awake, sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed - dim morning at her back. In her hand, a nearly empty pack of cigarettes, evidenced by how its contents rattled as Chloe tapped it against her leg. Anxiety had darkened the skin below her eyes.

"How'd you sleep?" She asked while twirling her lighter quickly between her fingers.

Carefully, Max tried to steady her breathing. The room reeked of smoking. A noticeable pulp of sweat had clung her shirt to her body, made more apparent by the crisp chill of the room. She eyed the room, bewildered, landing then on her friend, who offered no appealing demeanor. Once stabilized, Max managed to speak.

"Chloe?" She asked. "Am I home?"

She toothed a fresh cigarette from the pack, removed herself from the foot of the bed, and approached Max from the side. Her lighter sparked as she tried to ignite it.

"Welcome back." She said as the lighter struck. Flame reflected in her eyes - searing yellow framed by blue strands of hair. Grey wisps rose to smother them. She exhaled. "Hope you're ready to explain just what the hell's going on with you."

The smoke hung thick in the air.


	5. Aperture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max wakes in Seattle to find Chloe distraught.

"Well?" Chloe demanded, a bottle of Mr. Caulfield's scotch firmly in hand.

Max struggled to make sense of where she was. Chloe's head was tilted, shoulders slack, but her disposition seemed volatile. Max had a brief moment to assimilate back into this reality, to take stock of her surroundings and get her bearings. Jefferson's voice, his insidious purr, remained in the back of her head, while the image of herself hovering overhead appeared with every feverish blink of her eyelids. Stale cigarettes and alcohol were present in the air the instant Max was lucid, but despite Chloe's inebriation, her voice was barely above an assertive whisper.

"If y-you had told me . . ." Chloe inhaled and straightened her posture. "If you had said to me, one . . . one week ago that Max, fucking Caulfield would throw herself in front of my truck and bring about the end of the world . . . you know what I would've said?"

Max stared at her, a silhouette traced by the meager light provided by the streetlamp outside.

"I'd have said," she pointed aggressively with each word. "No. Fucking. Way-"

Max felt her insides sink.

"-am I missing that shit." Chloe finished before stumbling backward slightly. "I would've let it all burn as long as I got to watch it go up with you."

"Chloe . . ."

"But now that it's gone . . ." She stumbled again, but corrected herself. "Why does it have to be this way?" She jabbed at her chest with both hands, startling Max. "Why don't . . . why don't  _I_ have a choice? Huh?"

"I didn't ask for-"

"You don't even  _try_ and the  _universe itself_ pulls you away and drops a body-double in your place."

"You don't think I feel guilty?"

"Oh." Chloe spun around and walked awkwardly to the foot of the bed, where she plopped down to face the window. "I see your guilt like it's a bad sunburn, Max Caulfield, but you aren't guilty because of your power."

"What?" Max slid from beneath her comforter and stood beside her friend. "Chloe, of course-"

"Don't lie." Chloe raised the bottle to her mouth, then wiped her lips. "You feel guilty because you _didn't_ use it. One last time."

The words cut Max like a blade to the throat, muting her instantly. In a sense, she even agreed. The thought had crossed her mind, somewhere along the route between realities, that one choice may have been superior to the other.

Chloe let out a faint sigh. "I spent some time with the other you, you know."

In the faint light, Max could see tears on her face, catching the subtle glow of the streetlamp.

"She said she missed me. She had the same look on her face that you always do. The same _guilt_."

Summoning some semblance of strength, Max placed her hand on Chloe's shoulder. She could see her chin contort, then raise a hand to cover it. Between sharp, stifled breaths, she pulled her phone from her pocket and handed it to Max. Hovering over the phone's background, an image of Max, were dozens of missed-call and voicemail notifications from unknown numbers, and several from the Two Whales.

"She's gone, Max. That's what - it's what the messages . . ." Her chest began convulsing. She tried to fight it, but quickly lost and doubled over, nearly falling forward off the bed.

Max was quick to catch and try to comfort her; to drape herself across her back, pull her head to her chest, and squeeze. "I'm so sorry," she managed to say, fighting a fit of her own.

She was sorry. For everything. For every day she spent back in Arcadia Bay away from her. For every choice that led to Chloe's condition, there at the foot of her bed. For every unwritten letter, unanswered text, and call ignored. For letting the voice of insecurity dictate her actions, and her reluctance to face her guilt before it snowballed for five years.

Everything.

She was gifted an incredible power, but with it felt far from powerful. Rather than reverse, freeze, or manipulate anything, Max used her hands to hold her friend. The two of them, huddled over one another, were nearly broken. In time, sunlight shone along the tops of every tree and house. It emerged to lend some warmth on that cold Seattle morning, and to illuminate a new world. Their heads lifted, one before the other, to meet the sober light of morning. Their eyes hurt, but were well enough to see each other - to take a good long look into each other's pain. Pain harbored like a roaring furnace just below the skin. Several days of love and hell, of death evaded and embraced. It began with a gunshot, a trigger-pull, a shutter snapping closed to mark a split in reality. One press of a finger to capture the beating of a butterfly's wings, and the blue hue of everything since. Blue like the sky and sea of the Pacific Northwest, like the iris of a girl without a home, or the feeling of life lost to wasted time. A single truth reverberated, rendered plainly in every iteration of a fragmented universe that Max, somehow, could manipulate. A simple truth that, after every choice and consequence, there at the foot of her bed, was literally staring her in the face.

"I love you." Max said, as if the words had never been uttered so purely.

Chloe's face softened, the affection registering despite the enormity of the weight bearing down on her.

"I know," she responded, a grit in the back of her throat.

They pressed their heads together and turned to face the window, just as dawn brought color to the world - let them feel a little warmer.


End file.
